<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>It's you I like (the way you are right now) by OrSaiKellieLonore</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458029">It's you I like (the way you are right now)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore/pseuds/OrSaiKellieLonore'>OrSaiKellieLonore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Astronomy, Constellations, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mythology References, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Stargazing, Therapy, it's just fluff and good vibes your honor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:42:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore/pseuds/OrSaiKellieLonore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon and Baz end up underneath the stars, and so Simon tells the myth of Hera's dragon (Ladon, also known as the constellation Draco).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Snowbaz Sweethearts Fic Exchange 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's you I like (the way you are right now)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/gifts">starwarned</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my fic for the Snowbaz Sweethearts Fic Exchange 2021, for @starwarned (snowybank). Happy Valentine's Day! &lt;3</p><p>Thanks to @lincyclopedia for your beta talents as always, you're wonderful and I love you.</p><p>This title is from a song you might know by Mr. Fred Rogers, but my favorite version is sung by Holly Yarbrough which you can find <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8u2YrESDI4">here.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My father asked if I would like to invite Simon to stay at our summer house the week before we both start university again. Ever since we returned from our misadventures in America, he’s begun trying to accept my relationship with Simon. I think he’s finally realized that if he wants me to stay in his life, he’s going to have to work to keep me. I was going to come with them on this annual holiday anyway (we always take a long weekend at the house in the country before I go back to school) because I wanted to see Mordelia, but it’s especially nice that Simon is here, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon and I are doing better. We are in therapy now. Again, for him, but for the first time, in my case. We’re in couple’s therapy together, and Penny helped both myself and Simon also acquire a series of individual appointments from the same counselor we’re seeing. His name is Paul, and he is much better than the person Simon had last year. Paul actually wants input from Simon and me on what we want to address in our appointments. He doesn’t just insist that we only discuss trauma; he encourages us to tell him what we’re looking for from the experience and how he can more effectively work with us. It’s a rather large comfort, considering that we didn’t believe we would be able to find another “magically inclined” therapist who is willing to meet with us online.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s after dark and Simon and I are out of the house, wandering around the expansive hills. I realize after a while that I’m inadvertently leading us to my favorite stargazing spot. It’s on a hill that is completely covered in trees on all sides except for a clearing at the very top where it feels like the sky opens up to you. I’m just thinking about stopping when Simon plops down on the ground, looks up, and softly comments that it’s a lovely night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which it absolutely is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not cloudy at all, and look: you can see the stars perfectly from here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look over at him, sat on the ground, and smile. “It’s why it’s the best spot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He plucks a flower from the ground, not really watching what he’s doing. His gaze is trained up, and I don’t think he’s much aware when I sit beside him. I hadn’t noticed until just now that we’ve barely even glanced at each other since we came here—I want him to look at me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he twists the flower in his fingers and tilts his head even further up. I give up on catching his eyes and take in the familiar view with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I think I hear Simon say something, but it’s soft and hard to discern. It almost sounds like he’s telling me how beautiful he finds it. I want to tell him that he’s beautiful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky is entirely free of clouds, the stars are shining wildly and it is, in fact, breathtaking. It reminds me of the first time Simon and I went stargazing (if you could call it that), when we experimented with sharing magic and we made the stars appear around us. As an alternative to pointing this out, I tell him it reminds me of the late nights at Watford, doing astronomy homework with our class.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time I hear Simon’s words clearly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, you actually paid attention in that class.” He pauses. “Do you remember much from it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some,” I tell him. I don’t say more, unable to admit that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be able to show off this knowledge if all of my brain cells weren’t currently preoccupied with the embarrassing task of restraining myself from just looking at him. Although, I suppose that if I let myself look at Snow, my brain cells would be just as occupied with that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We stay quiet for a few minutes. I’m mostly thinking now about how it would feel to be holding Snow’s hand, given how close it is to mine, when he interrupts the silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That one is Draco, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look over to see his finger pointing into the sky. It’s tough to tell where exactly he’s pointing, but then he clarifies, “There, next to Hercules?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which, yes, I see where he’s indicating now and he’s correct. I don’t get the chance to confirm before he speaks again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hera loved him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I blink, then frown, confused. “I don’t think Hera loved Hercules; she specifically tried to have him killed with the twelve labours—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Simon cuts me off, sitting up to look at me. “No, not Hercules. Hera loved Ladon. Her dragon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I have to take a moment to recover from the eye contact, and Simon goes back to looking up at the sky. After a moment, I understand that he’s talking about Draco. “I didn’t even know that the dragon’s name was Ladon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I give him silence in hopes he keeps talking. When he doesn’t, I just hope I haven’t scared him off by snapping at him. I remind myself for later to work on staying better aware of my tone of voice with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me more?” I try and put as much softness and care as I can into my voice. Hopefully that’s enough of a prompt for him to continue. I can’t believe I keep messing this up for myself. When will Simon realize that I’m not going to stop hurting him like this, making careless mistakes one right after another? When is it finally going to be too much for him to deal with? When am </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> finally going to be too much for him? In the middle of this thought-spiral that threatens to guide me through every time I’ve ever messed up, Simon begins speaking again. Thank Merlin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ladon was assigned to watch over the apple tree that Hera was given as a wedding gift when she married Zeus. Hera put him on the job because she loved him so much, she wanted him to have something important to do. But then Hercules came into the picture. He wanted to prove himself as a hero, so he was tasked with completing his twelve labors. One of the labours Hera assigned to him was to steal apples from her tree. She hated Hercules, because he was the son of her husband, and she’d had nothing to do with his birth. Hera wanted him to die while attempting to complete the tasks so she’d have nothing to do with him ever again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hera was so confident in Ladon’s abilities, but he ended up being defeated by the demigod. She was heartbroken that because she underestimated Hercules, her beloved pet was killed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snow goes quiet, which leaves me thinking about the story. I look over to him, at which point he lies back on the ground with a sigh and stays silent for a few more seconds. “I didn’t mean to slay that dragon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, Simon. I know he didn’t. I want to tell him as much; I want to hold him, to tell him that he did the best he could, that he was only a child, but all those things feel overwhelming right now, so instead I just lie down next to him, careful to position myself not so close that we’ll touch accidentally, but close enough that if he does want to touch me he won’t have to reach far.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We lie there for a minute or so before I finally manage to say aloud, “I know you didn’t, Simon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he would want to touch me. I move my hand minutely over, and it happens to brush up against his. Which makes my heart pound so loudly I have to wonder if he can hear. I worry he’ll move away, maybe he didn’t intend to touch me and he thinks it’s weird that my heart is beating so loudly—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I suddenly feel Simon’s hand move, saving me from my own thoughts yet again, and his fingers begin slowly curling around my own. I suppose it’s possible that he could be just as nervous as I am, that he’s moving at such a reluctant pace because he thinks I might move away. This thought has me take a step back (metaphorically, or course): I still have to work to remind myself that more often than not, Simon and I actually are on the same page about “us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s the one who cast him up into the sky, you know. Hera.” Simon speaks again, this time just above a whisper. “She loved Ladon so much that when she found him slain, she mourned him by putting him in the stars.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hand is still moving, and we both sigh when our fingers fully clasp together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take out my wand with my right hand, thankful that the hand holding Simon’s is my left, and cast </span>
  <b>
    <em>star light, star bright</em>
  </b>
  <span>. I trace the constellation with my magic, highlighting Draco in the sky. All I want is to see Simon’s face. I let my willpower flag for a split second and let my head turn just a little, when I see that he’s fully facing me now. He’s looking at me like he was at the sky minutes ago, and that’s when my eyes get caught in his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is where we tend to get stuck—in therapy both of us have expressed to the other that gathering up the courage to ask for physical affection is too overwhelming for either of us. Two days ago in fact, before we departed London on this holiday, our therapist helped us work out an invitation system that we’ve only managed to use once so far (and it was for practice at the appointment).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We’re still looking at each other. Simon’s eyes are so lovely. I have to put my wand away anyway, but when that’s done I trick my right hand into continuing its journey up towards his face. I’m so close to actually brushing his face, and without thinking it through any further I do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My thumb is the first to touch down on Simon’s cheek, and his eyes widen in surprise before he answers my invitation with a languidly slow, intentional blink, eyes staying closed for a count of two (which I can see happening on his lips) before he opens them back up, holding his gaze with mine. I don’t make him wait after his affirmation, I draw myself closer to his face, thumb still skimming back and forth over his cheekbone until my mouth reaches his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon’s lips are so soft. Whenever we kiss, I’m surprised how smooth they feel against mine. I don’t understand how this happens—I think about kissing Simon far too much to forget this detail. But somehow my head empties the moment I get close to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lips move so slowly with mine. It just feels so . . . nice. Everything about this is so overwhelming that my brain can’t seem to come up with real words; it’s too busy processing how this boy’s face feels against my cold hand, and now I’ve just remembered that I’m still in the exact same position I was when we started kissing. Is Simon getting uncomfortable? Is his cheek cold? I take my hand away and then immediately realize my mistake: where does it go now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I could put it back on his face . . . but that feels awkward. It would make him question why I took my hand off in the first place. And it certainly wouldn’t resolve the issue that prompted its removal: if anything, my fingers are colder now than they were while touching Simon’s skin. In sudden recognition of another problem I’m running into (keeping my hand hanging uncertainly in the air will eventually lead to Simon wondering what in the world I’m doing with it) I end up just pulling my arm around his waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon is wearing this tight-fitted knit shirt I got him last year that provides a very thin barrier between our skin, so I can still feel the warmth of his body through the fabric. My hand slides over his waist to his back and when I feel his spine, I grasp his shirt in my hands. Simon responds by wrapping </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> arm around </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pulling me closer, and my breath hitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kissing hasn’t been this easy since . . .  has it ever been this easy? For both of us at the same time? I was so nervous about kissing Simon that my whole body would tremble with anxiety whenever we kissed for the longest time—about until we both started university. But as my comfort level grew over time, Simon’s diminished, and so we kissed less and less frequently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now it feels so different. It feels so good. I’m not anxiously shivering; Simon’s not flinching—he’s pulling me closer, still. Simon. I can’t help but smile, but that accidentally disrupts the flow, and I end up pulling away from him in anticipation of him doing the same. I sit up, frustrated with myself. How did I manage to muck this up already? I can’t bear to look at him, to see his judgement of me (or maybe he’s just disappointed, which would be so much worse). I just go back to looking at the stars. The night can’t be salvaged anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But I want to look at Simon. I want him to be okay with what I just did, to forgive me for accidentally breaking the best kiss we’ve had in so long—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So I do. My eyes betray me, they glance back to him and how he looks is the last thing I expected. He’d sat up to follow me, and he’s just . . . grinning. I can’t believe I was so wrong in assuming that he’d be disappointed in me. Simon is even leaning towards me. I close my eyes as I feel his lips on mine again, and right after that his arms snake back around my waist and he’s holding me even closer than he was before. I’m still a bit befuddled by the series of events that just occurred, and I suddenly need to make sure this is really happening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I place one hand gently on Simon’s neck (tracing his jawline while I’m there, can’t waste that sort of opportunity) and one hand on his shoulder. I just barely separate us again, but this time I don’t pull away from his arms, so he keeps holding me to him. I open my eyes to look at him, at his flushed face, at his mouth and my thumb right below it. His eyes aren’t even open. They’re fluttering slightly, but still closed. His mouth is the opposite, open enough to show where my bottom lip fit just seconds ago. And then there’s his chin, which is pushing back against my thumb ever so lightly as he continues to tilt up to meet my face again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon is waiting for me to come back to him, waiting to feel my lips against his once more. My brain cannot deal with the fact that Simon is so caught up in the moment that he’s staying in it, expecting me to rejoin him. I can’t process that he, like me, might be clinging to the tingling feeling that comes after our lips separate, so instead of trying, I end his waiting and lean back into him, slotting my mouth against his again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kissing Simon Snow is like nothing else. Merlin, I never want this to end.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am once again here, at the end notes, apologizing for a silly harry potter joke.<br/><a href="themeaningoflifeischeese.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>